Submit
by x Tessla x
Summary: [The Companion Story to Burned]Ryan had been burned until blackness was all he could see, but Sharpay has to submit. No longer does she control her own life. Like it's twin, this story is darksad. RR please!


**AN: The Companion of Burned. Please R/R.**

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**Submit **

**Part I: Meet the Parents**

It's hard to be me. No, I'm not trying to be vain, I'm not trying to sound pompous or better than anyone. It's a simple fact that I have to live with every day. People think it's fun to live out of a shiny bottle, but it's not. I'm not Jeanie. I cannot blink my eyes, twitter my nose to make something happen. I can't do hocus pocus, and I most certainly cannot see the future. If I could. It would be easy to be me.

I hold my self to certain standards that I cannot even begin to keep. It's not just me. Ryan, he does it too. Our parents make us. I don'tt really feel like talking about my parents though. There is more to my life than my parents.

I think.

Maybe there isn't anything else. They push me and expect me to be perfect. In their eyes, Ryan is the bad child. He is the screw up. To them Ry doesn't exist. To them, they have no son. I can't understand how they could even try think this way. Ryan is the most amazing brother a girl could ask for. He's so loving, funny, sweet and caring, but my parents don't see that side of him. They refuse to because in their eyes, he is nothing. They just see a gay dancer boy. It is just like in school. But

THEY

Made him the way he is. Of course they won't admit that though..

My parents think I should be perfect to make up for my brother's "problems." I don't agree with this at all. Ryan has so many talents that they refuse to see. Ryan is a better writer than I am. The words just seem to flow out of him. I've watched his fingers fly across the keyboard as he sits in his leather chair looking so comfortable. Today he doesn't look too happy. I can't blame him though. Mom has yelled at him again because he got a B in physics .Mom does not think that is good enough for him though. Mom doesn't treat me like this though. She doesn't expect me to be a genius at all. It is quite the opposite and more.

Mother expects me to be a perfect hostess. She expects me to walkgracefully through her dinner parties and smile a genuine smile. She expects me to talk to all the rich men in suits, tell them how wonderful their product is and how I am glad that the Evans' name could share space with them. She expects me to be polite and get along with everybody. God forbid I screw up her reputation.

The truth is that I would like to shove it all down their thick throats. I would like to scream and yell and shout. _I just don't care anymore about trying to be something I am not. I am not my mother._ I don't say any of this though. If I do, Mom will tell Daddy and Daddy has a tendency to get violent. If I speak out, I won't be quite so perfect anymore. I will be rebellious and I don'tt want that. I 'm too afraid.

Mom also wants me to be popular. She tries so hard to make me fit into clothes that are two sizes too tight. She tells me I need to be thinner. If i get thinner, I will shrivel up into some sort of crapy tasting dried fruit, but that's the point isn't it? Mo mtends to think a diet is not eating anything at all. I think that is insane, but I can't do anything about it.

Mom get's what Mom wants.

When she is near, I do not eat. thi

Sometimes Ryan slips me a sandwich. He can be so sweet sometimes. I love him. He's like the best friend I've ever had.

**Part II: When they Talk, I listen.**

In school, I feel a lot worse than I do at home. No matter what I do, how I act, people stare at me all the time. To them I am the Ice Queen. I have no emotion. To them I am a bitch. They don't know anything about me and I'd like to keep it that way. If they knew what went on behind closed doors, what would they think then.

At school, I listen to al of them talk about me. I know they don't think I can hear them, but I do. Anyone who has ears could repeat the things they shout behind my back. The names they call me hurt, like like a burn. For awhile it stings and then a blister is formed to remind you that you did something wrong. I can hear when they say my legs are sewn shut, or when they go in the other direction and call me a whore. I know they say I'm Ice and will never melt. I can also hear what they say about Ryan and when I hear it, I want to run and punch, kick, scream and cry. Those who taunt don' t think I'll do anything to stop them.

They're Right.

And I'm ashamed.

It is not that I don't love Ry. It is not that I don't want to protect him either. It is just that I'm scared. What if Mom finds out that I threw a fit in school. She already disapproves of me anyway. I can just hear her now going on about how I shouldn't fight for Ryan's sake. If he were a man he'd fight back. Besides, my parents think I am a living piece of hell. At least in school, I am still revered.

I listen to the words they use though. When they call him a Fag and Gay boy, my hand curl up into fists ready for them; ready for me to free myself.. I can see what it does to him. The pain is written clearly in his eyes. He's learned not to open his mouth and never to slouch, but his eyes still reveal what his body won't.

When he cries,

I feel like I should too.

But at school, no one knows anything about us. To them I am unfeeling and so I act that way because if they say it's true, then it must be. I am a product of my environment. Am I not? I flirt with all the guys whether or not they have girlfriends. They seem to like it. In truth,

they scare me.

They scare me like Daddy scares me. It's not fair. I always do what is expected of me but I never do anything for myself. My friends think I should date Troy, the basketball star. They think I should break him and Gabriella up because we would look so much cuter together. And besides, they say, You're so much BETTER than she is. Right now, I don't feel it.

I don't want to.

Break them up

Really.

I don't.

I like Gabby. She seems to know what she wants and how to get it. I like Troy too. He seems nice enough for a basketball player. Sometimes, I talk about what jerks they are, but I'm really just jealous. What I say doesn't mean I want break them up. But I can't say no or do anything wrong. I have the reputation that my mom built for me and if something happens to that, Mom will take her shouts to a whole new level and Daddy, I don't want to think about what he'll do.

I go up to Troy who is leaning against Gabby's locker, waiting. I flirt openly but the whole while, my teeth are clamped down on my lip. I try to smile coyly, but I can't do it.

I don't want to do this.

I feel sick.

I feel sick to my stomach.

My hands slide around Troy's waist and my eyes fall on my friends. They watch me with a gleeful anticipation because they see something that I don't. Not yet anyway. But then she's there and I can feel her eyes stab me over and over again with pins and needles.

Gabby is behind me.

Tears fill up my eyes,

but I fight them away.

I cannot melt.

Not Here.

I can only melt in my room, alone. If not alone then with Ryan. Ryan understands this and feels the same way. I turn slowly, and put a sly smile on my face. My eyes are apologizing, but she doesn't understand. She thinks this is what I really want. Who can blame her though. She only knows what she sees.

I give her a small pout, something I'm sure she takes as being bitchy and I leave. I want to say something to her. I want to apologize but the words can't come out of my mouth. If they do, I'll no longer be the Ice Queen. I'll no longer will have a reputation. I walk off leaving my friends behind me. They're not really my friends. They don't know a thing about me. They do not know I write, They don't know I cry, They don't know that I sometimes feel like dying.

The self doubt I always fee is back when I get into my sickening pink car. Ryan has been waiting for me. He looks sad and I can see the bruises forming across his face. The make up he wears is mine and it is running. Daddy must have gotten to him as well last night.

My hand touches his leg to comfort him, but he pushes me away. "Ryan Stop this Right NOW!" I screech louder than I thought I would. "Tell me what's wrong this INSTANT!" It's more of a demand than I wanted it. But I don't know what to do. When he gets like this-

So do I.

But I am afraid. What if Ryan will realize I'm more like Mom than I know. He wouldn't like me anymore. I know it

**Part III Home On the Range Where No Deer Dare to Play**

We enter our house, which. I can't really call it a home. There's nothing warm or cuddly here to make it a home. No one greets us with kisses and hugs or questions about our day at school. No one rushes to us and tells us what a good day they had. Certainly, no one cares. I head up to my room, but Ryan stays where he is. The look on his face is dark and I can't really tell what he is thinking about.

I'm thinking about taking all this powder off my face and tugging on a pair of puppy pajamas. I run upstairs to my bedroom, the only personal place in the house. I have decorated it with bright colors and ornate furniture to suit my liking. If it were up to Mom she would have painted it the color called Hospital Throw Up or Asylum Gray which is what the rest of the house is painted in. I tug my pants on and take all the pins out of my hair.

Running Down The Stairs, I stop to see Ryan being yelled at. Mom is staring at the bruises she sees under the layers and layers of makeup. "HOW COULD YOU GO OUT TO SCHOOL LOOKING LIKE THIS! YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF! WHAT TYPE OF STATEMENT DOES THAT MAKE"

She's screaming and I can't help but think that his pain is her fault. What type of statement does it show? I ask myself angrily. It shows how you beat your son. "Daddy's the one who put them there."

It escapes from my lips

Before I can stop it.

And she's on me now. "Sharpay Evans get down from those steps right now and repeat to me what you just said."

I move slowly down the steps and across the room. By this time Mom doesn't want to hear me speak. "Don't you dare BLAME your FATHER for what your idiot brother has done to himself. It's his choice to be-" she pauses as if what she's going to say next is the most blasphemous thing in the world. "QUEER."

I shrink back into the wall. Mom will never hit us, but Daddy's car has just pulled up. I can hear it out from behind me. "I'm sorry Mom."

"You damned well should be" she yells again. Maybe this is why I am like I am. "Now go up stairs and put something nice on. You look like you just came out of a trailer park. Is that how you want to be seen? Do you want people to think that we're poor and can't afford decent clothes for our daughter! Go upstairs right now and fix yourself before your father comes home."

But Daddy is already through the door and I'm trapped. "Sharpay Evans," Dad exclaims. "What in the good Lord's name are you wearing? Don't tell me you went to school in... THAT. You should be ashamed of yourself."

I can feel the tears starting to rise in my eyes. My vision is going away. Everything is the color of my parent's hearts. Empty and hollow. I leave the room as quickly as I can, the soft scruffy dog wrinkling in cute little ways. Ryan tries to follow me, but Daddy holds him back. The yelling starts again. It is louder than before. Ryan doesn't make a sound, but my tears are falling heavily.

I change quickly, lost in thought about who I am and whether or not I should run downstairs to help Ryan or if I should just let it pass. If I go down I'll get beaten too. If I don't do anything I'll regret it and feel guilty. At this moment

I'm not quite sure which is worse.

I make my way down the stairs and I see Ryan sitting on the bottom step. There is blood slipping from his mouth and down his chin. I sit next to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He makes no sound.

But I cry.

Hot Slippery Tears.

**Part IV: In the End...**

It's past dinner and all of my homework is done. The need for sleep is so strong and so I climb the mountain of stairs all the way back up to my room. When I open it there's someone already there. "Ryan?" I ask, but I know it's not Ryan. I know Ry's smell and the way he lounges on my bed or in my chair. This is not Ryan. "Daddy?"

I see his silhouette stand slowly, rising high above me. He nears slowly, but is not in fear that keeps him away. It is the power and thrill of the hunt. He feeds off the scent I give away;the smell of the prey. I shouldn't be scared of this, but I am. Each time it hurts. I wish it didn't. I wish he didn't have to do it.

But he does.

When he leaves, I curl into a ball and close my eyes hoping that I can somehow block the memory from my mind. I wish I could throw it into at a speeding train and somehow, that will carry it far from me. But it doesn't work like this and the feelings of self hatred and fear are still there, mocking me.

And so I lose myself

In the pain

And the emotion

Until all is black

And the shiny pink convertible

doesn't seem so sickening

anymore.


End file.
